The Story of James Moriarty, Child Criminal Mastermind
by madmanwithashockblanket
Summary: James Moriarty hasn't always been the spider in the web that he is today. Once upon a time, he was just a cunning, smart-mouthed boy. When his parents kick him out at only nine years old, James runs away. A man named Gregory Lestrade finds him and takes him in. When Greg introduces James to Sherlock, John, Molly, and a few others, what will happen? [Kid!Lock and Papa!Lestrade]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I've finally updated this chapter! For those of you who don't know, this fic was a rewrite of one I wrote over a year ago and didn't publish. The first time I wrote this chapter, I left out quite a few details. It's fixed now! I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but I will be posting new chapters soon. Thanks for reading!**

He slid against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest. His breathing was ragged and bordered on the edge of hysterical.

"No, no, no..." the small child's voice muttered. He pressed his hands against his ears, trying to drown out the sound of the dinner he had just run away from. Still, he couldn't stop it from replaying in his head...

___"Mum, is there a reason that nothing bad ever happens to us?" __the little boy asked. His mother froze and her brows drew close together, almost angrily._

___ "Why do you ask, James?" __When she addressed her nine year old son, her voice was definitely more tense than usual._

___ "Our life just always seems so perfect. Don't things go wrong?" __James asked._

___ "Don't ask questions, __his father snapped, which was strange. At the Moriarty household, questions were welcomed. Their motto was "Question the improbable, challenge the impossible."_

___ "Please, dad... I just want to help."_

___ "We don't __want ____your help, James!"_

___ "S-Sorry..." __James replied, stumbling over his words. At his apology, the table grew quiet. His parents exchanged looks before turning their gaze to him._

___ "That's absolutely fine, James," __his mother said, patting his hand. ____"Would you please pass me the salt?" __James wrapped a hand around the salt, still thinking._

___ "No," __he said. ____"No. Why __does ____nothing bad ever happen to us? When it does, the problem disappears the next day. As if nothing was wrong in the first place." __James's dark brown eyes flicked across the table._

___ "GODDAMNIT, JAMES!" __his father screamed suddenly. ____"WHO DO YOU THINK WE'RE DOING THIS FOR? DON'T BE SO OBVIOUS!"_

_It wasn't just his father who was angry. His mother had slammed her hand down on the table, knocking her glass over the edge. It shattered._

___ "JAMES, YOU PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A SON!" __she screeched. James sat shell shocked at the table, one hand still wrapped around the salt.____" We're doing all this for you, yet you still ask stupid questions!"_

___ "Doing all what for me?" __he whispered with a raspy voice, barely audible._

___ "My God, you can't even figure that out?!" __his father laughed. ____"You really are boring! Ordinary and boring!"_

___ "Why don't you do us all a favor? Get the hell out of here!" __his mother screamed._

So James did exactly that. He ran out of the door, stopping just to grab the first coat he could find – a ragged blue raincoat that was so big he was almost tripping in it as he ran out the door. He ran to nowhere in particular until he couldn't anymore, which just so happened to be all the way to London's homeless network. He muddled at the entrance of the concrete building, panting. The tunnel inside was immensely dark; all that lit the tunnels were dingy light bulbs scattered every 30 feet, and they produced nothing but a small circle of light.

James Moriarty peered into the darkness. Yes, this would do.

The chill of the tunnel blew right through his raincoat. Vaguely, James remembered that he and his parents were supposed to go shopping for winter coats after dinner. So much for that. James tightened his hands around the sides of the coat and tried to wrap himself with it. His attempt at heat was useless, though; James shivered, his breath was barely visible through the dark in puffs of steam.

"Hey," a voice called out through the darkness. "What's wrong, now?"

James froze, eyes darting everywhere. He couldn't see who was there, but he heard the zip of a zipper and someone fishing through their pocket. In a few moments, a flashlight clicked on.

"Turn the light off! I'm armed!" James tried to yell threateningly. Despite his best efforts at bluffing, his voice cracked and the beam of light fell directly on him. James was clever, undeniably smart, in fact. But he had never been very good under pressure.

"You're just a lad!" the man holding the flashlight scoffed. James squinted at the light. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not leaving," James said strongly. "I don't care what you say, there's no way I'm not going back." He scrambled up to his feet and produced the best glare he could.

The voice chuckled. "Don't worry, I'm with the police. I won't hurt you." James's heart raced. "I'm not here for you, anyway. I'm here inspecting a crime. It's my job. I just happened to hear you crying, and, well, here I am."

"I'm not _crying,_" James scoffed. "I don't cry."

The man stooped down so he was level with James. It might have been dark, but James could make out his features. He had dark black hair, seemed to be in his late twenties, and his eyes were the color of dark chocolate. James's eyes darted over him, drinking in all the details.

"You're not a police officer," James pointed out.

"No, but I'm training to become one. That doesn't mean I'm not with the police."

"I know that. You didn't let me finish." James huffed, crossing his arms.

"Go on, then." The man said, looking slightly amused. "No rush."

"You don't want to be a police officer. You're not doing it because of the money; you're rich. Someone's forcing you to. I can tell 'cause of your weird socks. Plus, you've got bags under your eyes." James said. The man's amusement melted into seriousness.

"My socks?" He asked.

"Yeah. Now leave me alone." James spun around and sank to his knees, facing the wall.

"I can't just leave you here," the man insisted.

"Yes, you can. And you can't make me move."

"You need to, it's the law, and-" the man babbled on about his stupid police work. James shut his eyes and rested his head against the wall, trying to shut him out.

His parents. James's own parents had abandoned him because he was too boring. Why was that? Was James not good enough? Or was he too perfect for the part? Either way, James was on his own now. Even if he did return to his parents, there was no guarantee that they would want him back.

"Hey," the man said softly. He put a hand on James's shoulder and turned him around.

"Leave me alone!" James shouted, raising his hand to hit him. But he stopped. The man's fingers touched his cheek, and when they pulled away, they were wet.

"See, you _have _been crying," the man said. James froze and stared at his fingers, still not believing that it was real.

James Moriarty... Cry? He hadn't cried in his entire life.

"I'm NOT!" James whined, rubbing furiously at his face with the thin fabric of his jacket.

"Tell me, what's wrong?" The man asked, sitting down more comfortably and locking eyes with him. James flushed and looked away.

"I'm not going back home." James mumbled, wiping the last traces of tears away. "I'm never going back home."

"I'm not saying you have to," the man said. "Right now, at least. I can't make promises, but... Why don't you just come to my flat for now?"

"No." James shook his head. "I don't even know your name."

"Gregory Lestrade. Call me Greg. And you?" The man, Greg, gave him an empathetic smile. James sniffed indignantly and opened his mouth sheepishly.

"I'm not telling." James shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Come on, I'm with the police, if you don't remember. You can trust me."

"Well…" James stood up slowly and smiled just enough to look sweet and innocent. Without a word of warning, he spun on his heel and dashed into the shadows.

"Hey!" Greg called, breaking into a run just behind him.

James ducked into the darkest corridor, huddled against the wall. His breath rattled. He hugged his knees and covered his mouth with a hand, afraid to make any sort of noise that might hint to where he was.

Greg's footsteps stopped not much further ahead, but only for a quick moment. He then continued to run, shouting 'come back!' every time he had the breath to.

Just like that, James was once again alone.

The inky darkness was slightly terrifying without anyone there with him. It didn't matter, though. James was homeless now, and he lived on his own. Darkness was something he'd have to get used to.

So, despite the bitter cold, the heavy darkness, and the voices of his parents still echoing in his head, James laid his head on the floor. He shifted to get more comfortable, but soon realized that the concrete would never feel like his warm bed back home.

A foggy and restless sleep enveloped him, and James was carried off into a world of his own horrible thoughts.

**A/N: Thanks again! I want to know how I did and if there's anything I can improve or add. What would you like to see? Please review! I love you all! ^_^**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey! Have you seen The Empty Hearse yet? Don't worry, this account will stay spoiler-free until all three episodes have aired in the UK, US, and everywhere else. After then, I'm hoping to write another Sherlock fic. Here's the next chapter!**

_"James," _a familiar voice called out. James was fast asleep, unable to discern what was reality and what was his nightmare.

"No," James mumbled, flipping around in his sleep. "Stay away..." He was running, running from monsters that wore his parents' faces and wouldn't stop screaming at him.

_"James, I'm not trying to hurt you!" _There was the voice again. It wasn't his parents. _"I won't hurt you, James."_

"You're lying!" he whined softly. James threw his arms out blindly, not knowing who or why he was attacking. All he knew was that it didn't matter what people said; they would always end up hurting you. Always.

_"James, it's alright. You don't have to wake up yet. Or attack me,"_ the voice chuckled softly. James simply rolled over again and groaned. _"Shhhh," _the voice hushed. _"It's fine. You're fine."_ A sudden warmth enveloped him, blocking out the frigid tunnel air. James sighed and let the heat wash over him. He sank into a deeper sleep, not so much as stirring when he felt something lift him up. James just curled into a tighter ball to ward off winter's chill.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

It was the sliding of curtain rings and the bright glare behind his eyes that eventually forced him awake. James sat up simply and casually as if he had woken up in his own bed. He hadn't, of course. The beige wallpaper with thin brown stripes, the polished wooden floors, the wooden lamp with a giant lampshade standing on the end table – it was all new to him.

He was in a small room already, but a room divider concealed a cozy kitchen with a tiny table and clean counter. The coffee machine was on, spilling black coffee into a white mug. A box of donuts was propped open on the counter, open for all of its splendor to be seen. James absent-mindedly ran his fingers over the yellow covering on the futon where he was laying. It may have been a bit lumpy, and the pillows under his head were slightly scratchy. But it was still much more comfortable than the floor of the homeless network. James yawned.

_The homeless network._

"Hey!" James cried. He bolted up in shock, the blanket that was covering him in one hand and the other hand raised above his head in a defensive fist. "What the hell?!" Quick, rushed footsteps padded through a hall adjacent to the room that he was in. The door opened, and-

"James," Greg smiled. "You're awake." James's jaw dropped, eyes blazing. An unbelievable anger welled up in his chest.

"Why did you bring me here?!" James screamed suddenly. Greg blinked, stepping back instinctively.

"I had to-"

"You didn't have to do _anything!_" James yelled. In one swift motion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the salt shaker that he had taken from home. Before Greg could say anything, the salt shaker was flying across the room, missing him by a hair's berth. It shattered against the wall and salt rained down like confetti at a parade.

Suddenly overwhelmed by dizziness, James sat back down on the futon. It was a stupid idea to scream so loudly and throw the salt so hard. Still, it was strangely satisfying. Greg stood still, staring uncertainly at the pale boy.

"Better?" he inquired. James shot him a dirty look, panting. This was all too much to take in at once. It would be difficult enough to wake up on the cold floor of a homeless network and think, 'hey, my parents threw me out yesterday!'. It was a completely different story to be kicked out of your own home, go to sleep on that cold floor, and wake up in a complete stranger's apartment.

"You," James began, throat raw, "are rich. Why are you not living in a mansion?" Greg frowned, thrown off my the turn in conversation. He sat down beside James, a short chuckle escaping his lips.

"I'm not actually rich," he said. "My parents have a lot of money, but I'm not rich."

"You could be better off," James said, pulling his knees up to his chest. "You have a really expensive watch. So your parents obviously want to give you some of that money. I bet you could be living in a big house." Greg bit his lip and stared at the boy, brow furrowed and eyes inquisitive. Noticing this, James rolled his eyes and huffed, "Wow, I'm clever for my age. How did I _ever _figure that out all on my own?"

"Well..." Greg coughed and decided to ignore that last bit. "I'm proving a point. That I don't need my parents' support to live a good life."

"You call this good?" James looked around, one eyebrow raised. As if to prove his point, the coffee maker went off with an annoying and shrill beep.

"Excuse me," Greg scoffed, standing up and moving to the kitchen. He knocked the white shutters open so he could continue talking to James. "I think it's very nice."

"Of course you do," James said as Greg gripped the handle of his coffee mug.

"By the way," Greg said, blowing softly on his coffee. "Can I call you Jim?" He dropped a few sugar cubes from a bowl into his mug.

"No," James said immediately. He frowned and remembered that he was supposed to be angry, not striking up conversation. "How do you know my name?" His voice was gruff now, and as intimidating as he could make it.

"It was stitched in the back of your coat," Greg took a sip of his coffee. "James M." James pursed his lips and nodded, subdued by other thoughts.

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Because you're a kid, and you were alone, and you were crying." Greg spoke sincerely. Sympathy was laced into his every word.

"But how did you find me?"

"I wasn't going to leave until I found you." Greg shook his head and smiled to himself. "I can't believe I missed the turn you made. It took me a long time to find you."

James stared down at his feet, eyes lingering idly. Why would someone even go looking for him? His parents had told him enough – he wasn't wanted. He wasn't needed. He wasn't special. There was no reason for anyone to chase after him. The way that Greg casually explained his actions by saying, 'you're a kid, alone, and crying' confused him terribly. He couldn't decide whether it made James hate him even more or like him just a bit. James couldn't even decide where he stood now.

Greg set his mug down on the table, eyes glancing to James.

"Do you want breakfast?" he asked. James shook his head.

"I'm not hungry."

"Did you eat anything last night?" Greg asked. James's mind wandered back to the night's meal. The meal that he had missed because he asked a stupid question. The meal he had missed because the truth had been exposed.

"Yeah," James said, eyes stinging. "I ate."

"You sure?" Greg opened a cupboard and took a frying pan out. "Eggs and bacon. And doughnuts."

"I said I'm not hungry." James spat through his teeth. "Now shut up." Greg complied and didn't answer. Instead, he turned the heat up on the oven-top and cracked a few eggs.

James refused to cry. He absolutely resented crying. Adults had always told him that crying was bad. He could vaguely recall one night where his parents were out and hired a babysitter. James was upset because they hadn't told him about them going out, and was hoping to tell them about the test he aced in maths. He cried then, and the young woman who was hired kicked him until he stopped. Since then, he only cried at night when no one could see him. Better yet, he tried to keep from crying altogether.

James bit his lip and took a deep breath to calm himself. If he was calm enough he wouldn't cry. Instead, he watched Greg as he pulled out two plates and filled them with eggs and bacon.

"I told you I'm not hungry," James said.

"I know," Greg replied. "Now, do you want a chocolate or a regular doughnut?"

"I-"

"Oh, what the hell?" Greg gave him one of each. James didn't protest when he was handed the plate and a fork.

**A/N: Sorry it's such a short chapter. Winter break is ending soon, and I may/may not have been procrastinating on all my homework. I promise to you that future chapters will be longer! I promise you that other characters will come in very soon. Please drop by a review if you can. I always want to know how I can continue to improve and what you want to see next! Love you guys! xoxo**


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